Masterstroke
by Captain LN
Summary: The Time War. Needing all the help they can get, the Time Lord Council decides to even resurrect the Master to help battle the Daleks, but does anyone know what they're getting into? My interpretation of the Master's story up until LotTL!
1. Resurrection

**Author:** Me, of course!

**Rating:** T - there won't be any fluff, but it's written for a slightly more mature audience. Possible language later on.

**Main Characters**: The Master, random Time Lords and later on, the Doctor

**Full Summary:** The Time War: a war raging across time and space, with the Time Lords pitted against the ruthless Daleks. Needing every helping hand they could get, the Time Lord Council decided to recall all of those that they possibly could... even one of their greatest enemies, the Master. Did anyone ever really know what they were getting in to?

**Setting:** Gallifrey, right up to LotTL.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything, unfortunately. Unless you want to buy it for me? Ooh! Please!!

**Author's Notes:** Hasn't anyone else wondered more about the Master's story? Well, here it is... my interpretation at least! Spoilers for everything... just in case. Read, review, enjoy!!

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**Masterstroke**

**_Beginning of the End_**

He spat at the other members of the room as they sat in their fancy, high backed chairs. The man himself was still up in chains, held in place carefully with a mixture of metals and force fields, all designed to keep the monster leashed, at least for the moment. A vicious, blazing glare was only reserved for the entire room, simply because the restraints still allowed him to crane his neck back and forth. Just because the rest of his body was practically paralysed, it didn't mean that he couldn't show his fury as well as he wanted to. With enough venom behind him, they could see how much hatred he had.

One of the group stood ceremoniously, robes just as stiff as the chairs as the bright red gave the impression of a passion that was rarely expressed. This was a matter of state, and nothing was going to ruin their plans. "You will do exactly as we ask. There is no choice in the matter."

"Will I? Will I indeed?" The words were just as poisonous as the gaze, with fear hidden by the vehemence of his tone. "I am subject to nobody! Bringing me here… who do you think you are!?"

"We are the Council," another piped up, this time being a female voice. The original member looked towards the new entrant to the verbal exchange, nodding at her in encouragement.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you admit to being on their side?"

A tense silence descended upon the chamber as the councillor had quickly snapped back a response. The caged creature snorted, shaking his head. He was just exhausted, going through something that had previously been forbidden – and for good reason. Even he was against something so debauched, seeing it as utterly against everything that he had really fought for. Yes, he may have tried to force power for himself, but life after death? Shouldn't that subject have been left to the imagination of religious species instead of fact amongst his own? "You know that's not true, _Councillor_," he bit. "You bring me back and expect me to fight beside you?"

Leaning forward on the table in front of that almost presidential chair, the councillor shook his head in disbelief. "This isn't just for us, it's for the whole planet! We need you to fight with us; we need _everyone_ to fight with us!"

"Fine, I'll help you, if you let me out of these pathetic shackles." A sigh of relief rippled across the cavernous room, as few had actually believed that some kind of compromise could have been made with the prisoner. Before they could really jump figuratively for joy, though, he decided to add a stipulation to his services. A cruel smile then played across his dark features as his voice lowered provocatively. "I'll help you… if you use my name."

Silence reigned for a few more moments, with the chained individual smirking now happily to himself, knowing that he had won at least a small victory. It reminded him so well of his previous exploits, and he also supposed that the rest of the room's occupants thought in at least a similar vein. Succumbing to the pressure, the main councillor hung his head as he sighed again. "Fine." Giving one last glance to his peers, the silver haired Time Lord lifted his head once more to look at that monster before him. "Please help us… _Master_."


	2. Incarceration

They had brought him back. The Master looked into the mirror, running his fingers along his jaw line. His body was younger, like he had just hit his late thirties. Burnt blonde hair and bright blue eyes defied existence. He shouldn't be here. Closing his eyes, the Time Lord rested his mind on the continuing beat of the drums. It was there: it was always there. Before his last confrontation with the Doctor, the drums were hardly there at all. From his youth, the drums tapped gently behind imaginary glass and brick, but now…

Turning his head slightly, the Master glanced at the two guards watching him. "Don't you ever get bored?" he snapped. Of course, they wouldn't answer him. It had been three days since that consciousness had been thrust back into reality, and he hadn't had a true moment alone. Even when bathing, there was someone there with him. Yes, a back may have been turned, but it was no life. The Council wasn't completely filled with fools: they knew that the Master would try to escape as soon as they relaxed their guard. And he would, in all honesty.

Sighing heavily, the Master walked back to the bed that had been prepared for him. His 'uniform' was also placed there. Grey and black, the uniform of a traitor brought back to fight. A flash of fire, and the Time Lord relented. For the time being he would have to do his duty. Degraded as ever, the man was watched as he stripped, putting the uniform on as quickly as possible. He knew better to complain so easily. If he stayed as calm as he possibly could, even act like he was going to be a valuable ally, then he might be able to get out of that mess. But the drums! With every vicious thought, every irritation, every tiny little thing that displeased him, the drums pounded louder and louder, screeching at him. Calling to war… but not the Master. Why should he fight? The Council never wanted him before!

"I'm ready," he then announced bitterly, the guards simply nodding as they waited for him to walk in front of them. Everyone knew that the Master was both a danger and a traitor. It was just a select few that knew of his continued existence.

There was a brief march before the Master was brought back to the Council chambers. Ironically, he felt like he had more power and control when he was shackled for their pleasure. Now, fully clothed and bondage free, the Master took a deep breath. His plans in the past had been large, but this was horrific. And there was every chance that he wouldn't survive this little exploit.

A black Time Lord stood, eyeing the Master with contempt. "Time Lord."

"I am the _Master_," came the swift reply. "The new President, I presume?"

The Council member glanced sideways to his peers. "No," he answered, pausing for a moment to straighten his posture. "The Lady President… is busy."

"So, you bring me back from the dead and I'm not even worth an audience?" The Master scoffed. "Wonderful."

"She doesn't know that you're here." Another voice, the voice of a white-haired Time Lord, echoed along the chamber. "Against the wishes of a number of the Council, I may add!"

"Enough, Rasmarkus. This is no time for debate. The vote ruled in favour, and that is enough." The black Time Lord, easily half of Rasmarkus' age, had no qualms in shooting his elder down. He was the one that was going to represent the Council, and no one would ruin this for him. "So be it, 'Master'. You will not reveal yourself to anyone. You will stay silent when you are around others, and will signal to them that you are mute so they cannot ask you questions. You will do as the Council commands."

The Master's eyes narrowed. This didn't sound like an ordinary Council meeting. Usually, the Time Lords would end up bickering about inconsequential details before almost losing everything. Of course, one of the bigger details was that the Lady President had absolutely no idea about his own resurrection. So, was this some kind of _coup_? Some members had obviously been against the idea of reanimating specific minds and bodies, but this was huge. It wasn't like they had decided to bring back Rassilon himself or Omega. They had brought back one of their most deadly enemies, and not even consulted the President first!

Smoothing out his grey uniform, the Master gave the smallest of vicious smiles. "Where is the Doctor? Where is that pathetic little saviour of yours?"

"He has been summoned. The Doctor is of no concern to you, Master. You are here to help the ground forces." The standing Time Lord nodded to another Councillor further down the chamber. That particular Time Lord stood, swallowing nervously. A fairly new member of the Time Lord High Council, he had heard and experienced a few of the Master's past 'adventures' and so feared the maniac. The Master never took his eyes from him. "Praxthan, do it." The Time Lord swallowed again, approaching the Master. Putting a hand in his robes, he then pulled out a sonic screwdriver.

A few moments passed before the Master became impatient. "Is that for me, or is this some kind of game?"

"Give it to him." The original Time Lord sounded impatient at the new Council member as his voice boomed. In obedience, Praxthan gave the Master the screwdriver before scurrying off back to his seat. He had never looked at the Master in the eye once. "It is a tool that you understand well, yes? Well. Trust me with this, Master. You decide to escape the planet or betray us, and you will be destroyed. There is too much at stake for Gallifrey. Here, you will create weapons for us under guard."

"Will I now?"

"Yes, you will." Confidence dripped from the Time Lord, like the Master were merely a rebellious teenager. "And eventually, you will thank us for the opportunity that we gave you, and beg for our forgiveness." With that, the man turned and left the chamber. Without a word, the rest of the Council walked after him, too. The Master still had no idea who he was.

A cough, and the guards signalled that the Master was now to return to his cell for further instruction. Saying nothing, he just did as he was told. The last words that the Time Lord had said to him echoed too readily alongside the drums for him to think of anything else. Creating weapons – and supposedly repairing them too – during the course of the war seemed safe enough, especially to a genius such as himself. However, the Master had learned from past experience never to trust the Council. What would happen when they didn't need him any more? He would need to think of a plan… and quickly.

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_**A/N:** Gawd, I had no idea I'd left everything for so long... but, as I promised, I'm carrying on with my writing! Is anyone starting to feel sorry for the Master? :P This is just a scene-setting chapter. More action to come soon! Reviews? Cheers ;)_


	3. Humiliation

This was no ordinary incarceration. There was no time to think clearly about a plan, or even have a backup method of escape. As the Master passed every mirror, he was reminded that he wasn't even allowed a goatee. Nothing. Even that small allowance would have kept his spirits up, reminding him of what he once was, but the Council were happier to keep him like everyone else. Not that there was much time to actually think about anything deeply. He was kept far too busy for that.

The Master had been drafted to create weapons. Now, his station was underground, beneath the Citadel itself. It was a horrific, almost claustrophobic place, dripping with dull grey walls and dull grey work. There was no movement for creativity: the plans were already drawn, and the Master would build what he was told. In the past, this would have been an excellent opportunity to steal components for himself, but the Council were slowly stripping him of not only his individuality, but of his soul. So he couldn't manipulate others with his hypnotic voice, or even just explain the truth, the High Council members had voted the usage of technology to deaden his vocal chords and tighten his jaws. That way, at least, they knew he would be forced to obey the rule of silence, whether he liked it or not.

He was still guarded, of course. A week since his reanimation, the Master was never left alone. He was only allowed to eat before commencing work in the morning, and last thing at night when he had been escorted back to his cell. That was when their machines brought his jaws and voice back to normal. It wasn't anything less than pure, unadulterated slavery. And the Master, despite his best efforts, was starting to crack.

From the other side of the large laboratory, a short, dark haired male found his way in front of the almost defeated Master. "Koshynarn?" A young Time Lord, barely out of the Academy, he had been working down in the weapons arsenal for over a month. Watching the supposed 'mute,' the young one had decided that he was going to befriend him. The guards gave the Master that new name, citing that he had been offworld for a while before becoming mute. How could the Master disagree? When one of the unknown guards had uttered a name so similar to his original, though, the Master wished that he could have spat at him. Trust the Council to make this as painful for him as possible. And still the Master could do nothing. "I can't get this temporal radius emitter to properly flux in the same wavelength as the capacital regulator. It just keeps short-fusing," he then finished, lamely.

Looking at the boy with something akin to disgust, the Master took the machine from his hands. With his own sonic screwdriver already out in front of him, the Master then took the two tools. A simple adjustment to the sonic setting, raising the original sonic emitter and strength of the blue ray pulse, and the boy's machine was quickly knocked into sync. The boy himself just looked absolutely amazed. "They don't teach things like that at the Academy…" he murmured in awe. Tristellan, the boy, then took the screwdriver from the Master, hopefully trying to remember the exact positioning of the equipment so he could use it again. "Thanks. Thanks a lot."

Where Tristellan was pleased, recognising a true genius when he saw it, the Master felt another little part of his nature begin to shrivel up. Since when was he a teacher for incompetent so-called engineers? The sequencing was simple, the adjustment obvious, and yet Tristellan hadn't seen it. Shuddering, he returned to his own work. The guards stood back in case he were to attack them – wisely enough – but he wasn't so sure they would be exactly ecstatic knowing that he wasn't working to the best of his ability. Just because the Master himself believed bringing individuals back from the dead was wrong, he definitely didn't want to return to that kind of state, either. And, considering the Council brought him back without explaining anything to the Lady President, he was also sure there would be no qualms in quickly dispatching him back to the grave. Head bowed, the Master's eyes reflected blue sparks of the machinery he was pulling together. His own, natural blue was starting to fade.

**A/N:** _Wow, been a while since an update, eh? You starting to feel sorry for the Master yet? The Mister Master loves reviews, and so do I! :D_


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